


The Fake

by anexorcist



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anexorcist/pseuds/anexorcist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s 4 in the morning. I can’t deal with your crazy until at least after 8.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fake

**Author's Note:**

> supernova2395 replied to your post: DAY 1 of ILU&TY 300+ FOLLOWERS  
> Jaytim, umm… robin Jason and stalker Tim please if that’s okay?

Tim rushes through the hotel lobby, clutching his camera to his chest and his hood to his head. It’s well past a decent hour for a sixteen year old to be out, but the doorman just nods and lifts a hand in greeting to Tim’s rushed “good evening, George!” even though it’s closer to morning.

The security guard at the desk inside lifts an eyebrow. “Where’s the fire, Tim?”

The teen barely stops to return the greeting with an out of breath, “There is no fire, Fred! Good to see you, gotta go!”

The elevator can’t come soon enough, and Tim jiggles his left leg impatiently. He’d take the stairs, but he lives on the twenty-first floor. ( _All_  of the twenty-first floor; his parents bought out the suite when he’d convinced them it would be more economical than employing a set of maids and cooks for a vastly empty mansion.)

Finally, a bell chimes to signal the elevator’s arrival, and Tim goes straight to the corner, leaning bodily against the railing. The ceiling and all the walls are mirrors, gilded in gold. In his oversized hoody, faded jeans, and muddy sneakers, he looks completely out of place. From at least four different angles, he watches his reflection catch his breath.

His face is a generous shade of red. Whether it’s from the physical exertion or his uncanny ability to read too much into things and  _embarrass_  himself  _until the end of time_ , Tim doesn’t know. The only he’s thinking right now is ‘ _gotta call Steph’_.

Thankfully, the ride up is lonely and undisturbed. Before the doors slide open, Tim fishes out his key. Upon entering the suite, he kicks his shoes off at the door and unslings his camera. He loses his sweatshirt somewhere between getting a glass of water and searching for his phone between couch cushions.

With shaky fingers, he dials a number he’s long since memorized.

“Come on, come on, come on, Steph, answer  _please_.”

Tim knows she’ll be angry that he’s calling her so late, er—  _early_. But he figures he can make up for it by taking her out for brunch. He glances at the clock. Maybe lunch.

“ _I swear on your grave if you’re trying to sell me another goddamn—_ ”

“Steph! It’s me!”

“ _Tim_?” Instantly her voice goes on alert, and Tim can imagine her sitting up in bed. “ _What’s wrong, honey, are you okay, who do I need to beat up?_ ”

“No one, no one, or if you’re already at it, why don’t you just beat  _me_  up?”

“ _What._ ”

Tim knows he’s going to pay for waking her up later, but when there are a hundred things racing through his mind, a hundred more are racing out his mouth.

“Make sure I’m beyond recognizable, hide the body, if you say you don’t know me I’ll only haunt you a little—”

With every word, Tim’s voice reaches a new octave and he sinks deeper into the plush sofa.

“ _Tim,_ ” Stephanie uses her stern mama bear voice. “ _Honey, slow down. It’s 4 in the morning. I can’t deal with your crazy until at least after 8. Now. What’s. Wrong._ ”

“Steph,” Tim breathes. “He did  _The Fake_.”

This time, she really takes pause. Tim almost thinks she’s fallen asleep again except for the click of her bedside lamp.

“ _What_.” It sounds like a dragon breathing fire.

“He did  _The Fake_. He did.  _The Fake_. The Fake, Steph,  _it happened!_ ” Tim gestures wildly in the air with his free hand. He can’t stay sitting for this. He has to move, pace the room, something,  _anything_.

“ _Oh my god, Tim,_ no!”

“Yes!”

“ _Details, boyfriend, I need_ details _!_ ”

“We were sitting on a fire escape, right, and we were talking and laughing and the moon illuminated his face _it was glowing, Stephanie, his face was so beautiful it was glowing_  and there was a breeze and it whipped his perfect hair around his perfect face and—”

Stephanie snorts on the other line. “ _Get on with it, Tim_.”

“Steph. Stephanie.” Tim takes a deep breath. Several deep breaths. “He— He leaned in.  _He leaned in_ and I _thought_ he was going in for a  _kiss_ ,  _but he was just nodding_. Augh! I feel like a  _fool_!!”

Tim throws himself desperately onto the sofa on the other side of the room. This one has more pillows, more ways to smother himself. For a second, he wonders if he shouldn’t have called Stephanie. Then he would have been able to take this horribly embarrassing moment to his grave.

Tim buries his face into one of the pillows as his cheeks and ears burn with shame and the memory of Jason leaning away, his eyebrows shooting up and eyes widening beneath the domino.

Robin. Boy Wonder. Of all people, Tim had tried to kiss  _Robin_ ,  _Batman’s partner_. He’d heard from Ives that first loves never die, and that may be true, but Dick has nothing on Jason’s rough kindness. The way he elbows Tim in the ribs like every joke they share is a secret. The way his wands are warm through the gauntlets as he steadies Tim on fire escapes and rooftops. The way he sits extra close to wrap his cape around Tim’s shoulders when it’s cold. The way he trades half an energy bar for half of Tim’s bologna sandwich. The way his voice goes soft even when he’s teasing Tim for doing something exceptionally dorky. The way his voice goes softer when he talks about his mom and ‘the Butler’ (who Tim knows is Alfred Pennyworth) and ‘the Bat’.

Tim had only fallen deeper in love with Jason the more he got to know him. And he’d thought, too, that Jason felt the same. All the signs were there! He’d cross-referenced body language and voice inflection. But Tim had been  _wrong_.

“Stephanie, I have a serious request. Please.”

“ _What is it?_ ”

“If I die young, bury me in satin, lay me down on a bed of roses. Sink me in the river—”

“ _Timothy Jackson Drake, don’t you_ dare _. Not until I’ve had at least two cups of coffee._ ”

Her voice goes gentle with a sigh – less intense than her mama bear voice – and Tim can hear the faint jingle of keys.

“ _Boyfriend. Get that coffee maker started. I’ll be there in a jiff_.”

She hangs up before Tim can reply. He thinks he’ll pull out the fancy espresso machine instead and order some room service. Soon. Ish. In like five minutes. But until then, Tim just groans and curls in on himself, humming the rest of that song.


End file.
